Chapter 4

I lingered in place, hesitating, not knowing what preparations I should make. At a loss, I could only run my fingers through my hair.

I was pretty sure my baby knew who I was.

When she was little, Nigel always showed her my photos and had her call me "Mom." There were lots of pictures of us together.

I wonder if she would recognize me.

A kid timidly poked her head through the crack in the door, peeking inside.

As our eyes met, a powerful, inexplicable sense of kinship hit me out of nowhere, rising up from the depths of my blood.

Giving birth to her was anything but easy.

It lasted from dusk till dawn. At first I was full of strength, but by the end, I was barely hanging on.

When they wheeled me out of the delivery room, Nigel's hands were stained with blood from gripping the bed so hard.

His eyes were red and wild. He was on the floor, sobbing until his whole body trembled.

But the first rays of sunlight broke through the glass, bathing our baby in a gentle glow.

I teased Nigel for crying. But the moment I saw that tiny bundle in the nurse's arms, I couldn't hold back my own tears.

I said, "Nigel, I think her nickname should be Hope."

I hoped the System would never find out about her, and that we could stay by her side as she grew up.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I finally realized how long six years could be.

Six years were long enough for that little baby, once only able to whimper, to start thinking for herself. They were long enough to feel like I'd lived half a century.

Nigel was right. She really took after my eyes and my brows.

Half-kneeling on the floor, I gestured to her and said in a hoarse voice, "Hope, I'm..."

Before I could finish, she shot into my arms like a little cannonball. "Mommy, it's been so long!

"I'm Hope. Do you remember me? Daddy says you named me Hope because you wanted me to be your hope."

Holding her tiny, soft body in my arms, that emptiness inside me finally disappeared. My soul, which had felt hollow for so long, was filled at last.

This was my daughter, whom I carried for ten months and gave everything to bring into this world.

Maybe it was the natural closeness of our blood, but she felt completely familiar to me.

She was like a little bird returning to its nest, or a cheerful sparrow, chirping non-stop as she circled around me.

She chatted about her toys, her friends, and even secretly tattled on Nigel.

Nigel leaned against the wall, watching us with tender affection and quiet peace in his eyes.

When our eyes met, it felt as if everything was as it used to be, like I had never been gone at all.

Hope said, "Mommy, I want to tell you about Maia. I really like her!"

"That's enough, Hope. Stop talking!" Nigel said.

I paused for a moment, not because Hope mentioned Maia, but also because Nigel was rarely this strict.

Being yanked back to reality all of a sudden really sucked.

But honestly, it made sense. Maia was the one who watched Hope grow up.

I could tell Hope had been raised with real care. Her energetic, optimistic personality was clearly nurtured with genuine attention.

Surprisingly, I even felt a bit grateful to Maia.

I appreciated that she took care of Hope. I was thankful she helped Nigel heal and find his way again.

Hope pouted, burrowing into my arms and muttering softly. I couldn't help but be charmed by her cuteness.

She asked, "Mommy, can we make cookies together?

"All the other kids get cookies from their moms. I want cookies from you too, Mommy."

My heart suddenly ached. I hugged her gently, nodding with all my strength.

She shot Nigel a proud look, then announced in a bossy way that she was going to have my cookies all to herself.

Nigel laughed softly, shaking his head and raising his hands in surrender, watching as we clumsily searched online for cookie recipes.

He genuinely stayed out of it. He spent the whole afternoon in his study, completely absorbed in work.

When the cookies were finally done, the whole house was filled with the warm, buttery scent of fresh-baked treats.

The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Honestly, Hope and I were as much of a mess.

Though Hope said she was going to have all the cookies to herself, she skipped over and held a cookie up to her dad's mouth, her eyes sparkling like little stars.

With her cheeks stuffed and munching away, she declared, "Mommy is amazing. These are so yummy. They are the best cookies in the whole world!"

Nigel locked eyes with me, then leaned in and took a bite right from the cookie Hope was holding.

The next moment, his expression suddenly shifted.

He grabbed Hope and bolted out the door. I trailed behind him, baffled. "What's wrong?"

"There's ginger in the cookies. Hope's allergic to ginger!" Nigel called out urgently.

Suddenly, everything went blank. It was like I'd been blindsided by an invisible hammer.

Hope, who had been bursting with energy moments ago, now clung weakly to Nigel's collar. Her neck and arms, now exposed, were dotted with tiny red spots.

Yet even then, she kept whispering, "Cookies. Mommy made them for me."

I slumped on the hallway bench at the hospital, feeling hollow and drained.

Maia rushed into the hospital. As soon as Hope spotted her, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. It was an instinctive reaction that a child would show to their closed ones.

As I watched Maia standing there with Nigel, I couldn't stop jealousy and bitterness from bubbling up inside me.

I hated that she'd claimed my spot, and I was jealous she'd taken away my husband and my child.